


Minimum Acceptable Standards

by Neery



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Coercion, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Rape/Non-con, Power Imbalance, Tentatively Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 04:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neery/pseuds/Neery
Summary: Starscream always has to push the boundaries. Sometimes, it works out all right.A sequel toManufactured For UsebySauntervaguelydown (DesdemonaKaylose)
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream
Comments: 27
Kudos: 153





	Minimum Acceptable Standards

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Manufactured for Use](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809161) by [Sauntervaguelydown (DesdemonaKaylose)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/Sauntervaguelydown). 



> This story isn't going to make much sense without reading [Manufactured For Use](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18809161) first. If you have, you already know what you're in for, but just in case: heed the tags. This is not a story about a healthy relationship. 
> 
> Thanks to [Last_Horizon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Last_Horizon) for beta-reading, and thanks to [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/Sauntervaguelydown) for giving me permission to play in this universe!

Megatron held out for a full decacycle before summoning Starscream to his quarters again. 

He tried not to request this service too often. Starscream needed time to heal, he knew, and Megatron wasn't interested in compromising the battle readiness of his best flier, or to injure him beyond what couldn't be avoided. It wasn't Starscream's pain he craved, for all that Starscream seemed to expect it.

But he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the way Starscream had writhed in his lap, the slick glide of Starscream's mesh under his fingers, Starscream's own hand spasming on top of his. Starscream's pleasure. He wanted to see if it could be repeated, or if it had been an accident of the drug, or one of Starscream's mercurial moods. 

Starscream appeared with gratifying promptness, but when Megatron sat down in his usual chair at the table and waved Starscream to his usual cube of doctored energon, Starscream balked. 

"Master…" he started, looking up at Megatron, the coyly flirtatious glance almost hiding the brief look of calculation in his optics. It was a familiar sight: Starscream considering how far he could push his luck. 

Megatron felt a surprisingly sharp stab of disappointment. So Starscream's seemingly enthusiastic cooperation had been a fluke after all, or yet another scheme. 

Starscream came around the table towards him, putting a sway in his step. Megatron knew it was a deliberate distraction, but still felt his optics drawn to the elegant line of Starscream's thighs. 

Starscream stopped in front of him, close enough to touch, and gave Megatron that coy little smile again. "I've shown that I'll be good, haven't I? Haven't I pleased you, master?"

Megatron startled when Starscream slid into his lap. He automatically looked for the knife, combat protocols tracking the arc of Starscream's arms. But Starscream's hands stayed harmlessly by his sides as he settled himself on Megatron's thighs, a lithe and supple weight. 

"Why don't we skip the drugs, just this once, and you let me show you what I'll be able to do for you when I can actually move?"

Megatron settled his hands on Starscream's thighs, absently running his fingers over the smooth plating. Starscream's engine purred at him, and his thighs split open a little further around Megatron's waist. 

Trust Starscream to manage to surprise him even after all this time. Trust Starscream to reject the easiest path, too; this was how he was forever getting himself in over his head. Megatron really didn't want this to turn into another of Starscream's near-suicidal schemes. 

"Do you know what you're asking?" Running his fingers over Starscreams sides, Megatron leaned in. He pitched his voice low, menacing. "Do you know what they did, back in the arena, to mechs that moved too much? Mechs that screamed?"

Starscream stiffened on his lap. He knew, of course. 

Megatron nodded. "They trained me to go for the kill without thinking. If you scream, I don't know that I'll remember to stop myself."

Starscream's wings flicked in a gesture Megatron couldn't interpret: surprise and something else, something that, strangely, seemed almost pleased. 

"That's why you've been drugging me," Starscream said slowly.

"Yes," Megatron said. He'd mostly convinced himself Starscream knew what he was doing, he realized now. He knew Starscream had done extensive research into his gladiatorial career, and he could be unnervingly perceptive at times. Megatron had allowed himself to believe that surely Starscream had figured it out, the same way he was usually able to figure out what Megatron was planning in battle.

But Starscream hadn't known the drug was for his own protection. And yet he'd submitted to it time and time again. It was a strange and unsettling thought, and Megatron quickly pushed it into his queue for later. Starscream was here now, and it wasn't ever a good idea to get too caught up in his own thoughts when Starscream was around. 

"Sure you don't want the drugs?" Megatron asked, nudging the doctored cube closer to him. 

Starscream gave it, and then him, a cautious look. "Just to be clear, master…. if I were to cry out in pleasure, would that set you off?"

"I hardly think that's going to come up," Megatron said, irritated. Did Starscream think he was playing at this? Starscream had seen his spike; had felt it; had, to be fair, handled it better than anyone else ever had. But he knew it wasn't a thing that would make anyone scream in pleasure. 

Starscream ducked his helm and peered up at him. "But if it were… hypothetically speaking… if you'll pardon my insolence, mighty Megatron—you _have_ heard someone scream in pleasure before?"

"Yes, of course," Megatron said, his irritation only growing. It’d hardly been avoidable, in the crowded conditions of the barracks he'd lived in for most of his existence. The arena hadn't been the only place he'd seen mechs take their pleasure from those weaker than them. Some of them had been very noisy about it. It'd been an unpleasantly thorough education both in the sounds of other mechs' pleasure and the sounds of their victims' suffering. Suffering Megatron would be happy enough to spare Starscream, if his second weren't being a contrary pain in the aft, as usual. 

"How about you let me get a better look at what I'd be working with," Starscream said. He slid off Megatron's lap, folding smoothly to his knees at Megatron's feet. Megatron looked down at him in surprise. Starscream had knelt for him before, of course, but never of his own accord. 

Starscream raised his hands, gave Megatron a quick glance as if to check for an objection, and, when none came, set them on Megatron's thighs. He stroked the plating, sharp claws teasing at a seam. Megatron's panel didn't need any more encouragement than that to pop open. His spike pressurized instantly. It had been priming itself since the moment Megatron had decided enough time had passed, that he could let himself give in to the urge to request Starscream's service in his quarters again.

Starscream didn't recoil from the sight of his spike, like Megatron's fawning young lieutenants inevitably had, the few times he'd allowed one a look under his panel. But then, Starscream had seen it before, if never from this close. Starscream's mouth curled in a small, self-satisfied smirk as he mustered it intently: the size of it, the spines running up the underside, the wicked barb. And then he leaned in and licked the tip.

Megatron's fans stalled out. He knew about this act, of course. But even during the worst of his gladiator days, no one had ever been foolish enough to order his sharp teeth near their vulnerable genitals. He himself had never requested it from his soldiers. For prideful, stubborn Starscream to offer it willingly seemed an almost unimaginable concession. 

Starscream's tongue darted carefully in between the spines, sliding slickly over the head. Megatron's engine roared. He curled one hand around the back of Starscream's helm, his thumb stroking the edge of the vents framing Starscream's face. 

Starscream stiffened, pulling back. A thin thread of oral lubricant stretched between Megatron's spike and his mouth before snapping. Megatron had to tear his optics away from the wet shine of his mouth. Starscream was tense under his hand, not quite fighting his touch.

"My lord, you know I'm at your disposal. But damage to the intake is far harder to repair than damage to the valve. If you'd just let me show you what I can do—I can promise to make it worth your patience?" he said cautiously, looking up at Megatron. His helm was still so close to Megatron's spike that Megatron could feel the air from Starscream's vents wash over it in a teasing caress. 

The feeling, and the sight of him right there, tied up enough processing capacity that it took Megatron a long moment to realize what Starscream was talking about. He released his grip on Starscream's helm as soon as he did. He hadn't meant it as a threat. Starscream had voluntarily put himself in a uniquely vulnerable position, and Megatron didn’t mean to reward his dedication to his service with an injury. 

He _certainly_ wasn't going to try and force his spike down Starscream's intake. He'd seen the injuries that sort of thing could cause, in the arena. It hadn't happened a lot. The overseers had discouraged it. Starscream was right that the delicate mechanisms in a mech's intake were a lot harder to repair than the tough mesh of a valve. 

And in any case that sort of behavior was just begging to have your spike bitten off. Starscream certainly wouldn't just meekly put up with it if Megatron really crossed that line. Starscream would cower when he thought it was the easiest way out, but he'd fight like a mad thing if you really pushed him. It was one of Megatron's favorite things about him. 

Starscream looked up when Megatron let go. Megatron watched in fascination as emotions chased themselves across Starscream's face plates in the space of a single sparkbeat: startled gratitude, a scowl of annoyance, and then an obsequious smile when he remembered Megatron could in fact see his face. 

"Thank you, my lord. I appreciate the forbearance," he said, and then he gave Megatron another look, the one that meant he was considering whether he could push his luck just a little bit further.

"Out with it, Starscream," Megatron said. He was feeling highly indulgent just then. 

"If you wanted to keep your hands busy, my lord…" Starscream said, and then he took one of Megatron's hands and placed it on the edge of his wing, Megatron's thumb just brushing the delicate flap of an aileron. 

Megatron took the implied invitation, gripping the aileron between two fingers and playing it back and forth, careful not to bend anything in a way it wasn't meant to go. Seekers were always so precious about their wings, and the thin metal crumpled so easily. 

Starscream gave a pleased little hum of his engine and bent to his task again, his tongue sliding smoothly over the head of Megatron's spike. Megatron's engine answered with a rev of its own. His frame wanted to move, his spike aching to thrust up into that tantalizing sensation, but he'd already resolved to be careful with Starscream. 

He tightened all his cables until his hips were moving only in the faintest of twitches. Starscream drew back a little, letting Megatron rub the tip of his spike over his lips, and then licked him again. He kept focusing on the barb, his tongue curling around the base of it until Megatron was drawing air through his vents in desperate heaving gasps. The tough barb wasn't even very sensitive, but something about Starscream's obvious fascination with it, the way he didn't shy from even this most dangerous part of Megatron's spike…

"That's good," he rumbled, and managed to divert just enough of his focus to keep petting the edge of Starscream's wing, which shivered under his hand. For a moment there was a smug little smile on Starscream's face, before his expression quickly smoothed out into the usual unconvincing obsequiousness. Of course Starscream couldn't stop being manipulative for ten astroseconds even when he actually was doing something nice for Megatron. 

Megatron surprised himself with the wave of exasperated fondness he felt: his impossible, vexatious scrapgnawer of a second in command. 

His charge was rising quickly. Starscream took the head of his spike into his mouth, intake working around it, Starscream's lips just brushing the spines. His hands were curling into the seams of Megatron's thighs, tugging sensitive wires. The prickling scratch of his sharp claws on Megatron's energon lines was an intoxicating reminder of what a dangerous creature had gone to his knees for him. 

Sparks were crackling in his seams, his fans laboring, and the obliterating wave of an overload was hovering _just_ within reach—and then Starscream pulled back. Megatron's engine howled. He barely stopped the impulse to shove Starscream back down on his spike the way he'd already resolved not to do. 

For a moment he seriously considered reaching down for his own spike to finish himself off, spilling all over Starscream's pretty face. The idea was tempting enough to make his engine rev again—but no. That humiliation would've been a poor repayment for Starscream's service, even _if_ he was ruining it now by teasing. Frustrating scraplet. 

"Shall we take this to a berth, then?" Starscream said, perplexingly. 

Megatron's interface-addled logic center needed a moment to process the question. What did it matter whether Megatron sat on this chair or on a berth, was the first question it offered up, uselessly; but that was nonsense, of course. What Starscream meant was that he wanted to get spiked after all. 

Which was perplexing in itself. Megatron had assumed that Starscream had chosen to offer this way of interfacing because he didn't want the drugs and he, sensibly, didn't want to court an injury. Why else volunteer for the humiliation of sucking spike? But of course assuming good sense from Starscream was always a mistake. 

But all right. Starscream wanted to get spiked—Megatron's engine revved in renewed interest—and he wanted it in a berth. 

Megatron knew, of course, that plenty of mechs interfaced in their berths, but the idea had always struck him as strange; as absurd as having a fight or treating a wound in a berth. Why would you want to bring energon and fluids and pain to the place where you _slept_? 

But Starscream was finicky with his wings and protective of his paint job. If he didn't want to scrape his finish on the floor, Megatron supposed he could indulge him just this once. 

"Come, then," he said, getting to his feet and reaching down to pull Starscream up. There was that flash of startled pleasure on Starscream's face again, and then a smug sort of triumph, as if the prize of getting to defile Megatron's berth was in any way worth what he'd offered in exchange. But then, Starscream did so like his petty little triumphs. If he wanted to count this as one, Megatron was happy enough to allow him. 

Megatron's berth room attached to his office by a connecting door. He'd never allowed Starscream in here before. When Megatron unlocked the door Starscream looked so smugly pleased that Megatron's sensors automatically locked on to him again, threat assessment protocols spinning up. If Starscream was planning some sort of sabotage—

The smug look dropped off Starscream's face to be replaced with bafflement, and then a growing outrage. 

" _This_ is where you sleep?" Starscream said, glaring at his berth. 

"Yes. Obviously," Megatron said, confused. 

Starscream sniffed in disapproval.

Megatron looked at this berth, which looked the same as it had looked yesterday and every day before: neat and clean, nothing whatsoever about it to justify that disappointed expression on Starscream's face. The berth was a luxury he couldn't have dreamed of in his time as a miner, or even the early days in the cramped gladiator's barracks: an enormous slab perfectly sized to Megatron's dimensions, big enough to stretch out in every direction. Bare circuitry gleamed invitingly all over the surface, ready to feed energy to his surface contact points so he didn't even have to plug in to recharge. 

Megatron had expected to get used to the sheer decadence of it eventually, but he still felt a moment of appreciation every night he came home to his berth, to the soothing sparseness of his berthroom with its smooth bare walls. It was a relief every day, after the constant bustle of the Nemesis's bridge, after all the time he'd spent stumbling over everyone else's clutter in barracks and flophouses.

"What is it?" he asked. Starscream still looked appalled, and Megatron's couldn't begin to understand what there was to be appalled _about_. There was barely anything _in_ the room. It wasn't like he kept any grisly trophies around. 

Starscream muttered something; the only word Megatron caught was, incomprehensibly, _pillows_.

"What was that?" Megatron asked. 

"Nothing, my lord," Starscream said, giving him a transparently fake smile and his berth yet another dark look. Right. Pillows; they were here in the first place because Starscream was worried about marring his finish, and now that he thought about it, as far as that went, Megatron's unpadded berth didn't in fact offer that much of an improvement over the bare floor. 

"I could put out a tarp…?" Megatron offered, thinking aloud more than anything. It would cover up the lovely bare connectors on his berth, but he was still feeling indulgent, and not entirely opposed to putting up with Starscream's fussiness a bit longer.

Starscream sniffed again, and muttered something else, quietly enough Megatron could pretend not to have caught the uncomplimentary tone, although Starscream _was_ starting to push it, now. 

"Never mind," Starscream said, more loudly. "You could have anything you want, of course what you want is some sort of ascetic monk's cell, _why_ did I expect anything else. Right. Why don't you lie down on your back—"

Megatron stiffened, surprised by the intensity of his own annoyance. It was fair enough if Starscream wanted to get some of his own back after giving as much ground as he had, and ambition wasn't a flaw in an officer in itself, so testing the boundaries was all well and good. But Starscream always had to test them to destruction. 

Starscream winced away from the growl of Megatron's engine, his wings tilting down in the Seeker version of a bow as he cowered. He tried in vain to tug his wrist from Megatron's tightening grip. "Forgive me, master. I didn't mean to overstep—"

"What did you mean, then?" Megatron asked impatiently. His charge was still up. Why couldn't Starscream have kept on doing the perfectly nice thing he'd been doing a minute ago?

"If you'd let me show you—if you'd lie down, and I could straddle you—?" Starscream suggested, wincing preemptively. 

It still seemed more than a touch inappropriate to Megatron, but at least Starscream wasn't angling to get between his legs. His spike voted emphatically for going along with any reasonable suggestion if it'd let them get back to what they'd been doing without any more delay. 

He lay back, eyeing Starscream suspiciously, the transformation sequence that would ready his melee weapons forefront in his processor. But for once Starscream didn't seem to be scheming. He slunk closer with liquid grace, swung a leg over Megatron's hip, and settled in his lap. 

Seekers with their hollow struts and their flight modifications were always startlingly light for their size. His weight was only a pleasant warmth on Megatron's hips, pressing him to the berth without truly hindering his movements. It was nothing at all like getting pinned beneath the hot weight of another warframe after a losing battle. And in any case that had hardly happened to Megatron often enough to be worth the disproportional weight his emotional coprocessor assigned to the memories. 

Megatron's spike rose up between Starscream's spread thighs, reaching almost to his cockpit, a stark reminder of the size difference between them. Megatron wondered once again whether Starscream truly knew what he was getting himself into, or whether he was only testing another boundary to destruction. 

"I won't object if you'd rather get back to what you were doing," Megatron offered. "Or you might still take the drug. I can be patient, if you're worried about the time it'd take to take effect."

Starscream scoffed, and then belatedly gave him a nervous glance. Megatron felt that unaccustomed stab of fondness again. Respectful behavior came so hard to Starscream. 

"If you _are_ willing to indulge me just a bit further…?" Starscream started, pausing cautiously to wait for Megatron's reaction. Megatron inclined his head. So far, he hadn't regretted letting Starscream have his helm tonight. 

"Will you touch me? The way you did last time?"

Megatron's engine rumbled approvingly, a vivid memory of Starscream's slippery-wet valve under his fingers rising easily to the front of his processor. Yes, he wouldn't mind doing that again, without the unsettling uncertainty that had thrown a pall over the experience last time. Megatron wasn't used to feeling unsure of himself, but he'd been painfully aware of his own inexperience, and equally aware of the fact that it wouldn't do to let Starscream realize that he didn't know what he was doing. 

His own spike brushed against his wrist as he reached around it for the space between Starscream's thighs, even that fleeting touch sending a bolt of charge through him. He ignored its impatient demands. He'd promised Starscream his indulgence, and he'd been patient through trials far more difficult than this ache between his legs. 

Starscream was already wet, lubricant slicking his untouched valve. Megatron paused, startled. His own valve would lubricate like that, at the slightest provocation, but he wasn't used to it from his interface partners. It had always taken time and effort to wring even a few drops of lubricant from Starscream's unresponsive frame. The last time he'd touched him Starscream had been dripping wet, of course, but that had been after Megatron had already overloaded inside him. He hadn't thought it was anything but his own transfluid dripping back out of Starscream's valve.

Starscream gasped at the first touch to his node, his hips bucking. Megatron caught the little receptor under his thumb, pressing down hard. Starscream squirmed, his face wincing into something closer to pain than pleasure. Megatron eased his touch. Starscream was so sensitive there. Megatron couldn't imagine why he wanted to be touched like this at all. Pleasuring a spike seemed so much easier by comparison. Megatron hadn't ever been tempted to start fiddling with his own node when the uncomplicated pleasure of stroking his spike was available to him at any time. But Starscream seemed enchanted with the sensation, his optics going out of focus as he chased Megatron's fingers on his node with little twitches of his hips.

Starscream hadn't pressurized his own spike yet, possibly out of deference to Megatron's sensibilities. In fact Megatron didn't think he'd have been pleased if Starscream had tried to pressurize it in his face without asking, but now he wanted to see it. Surely Starscream had proven that he understood his place in this well enough not to take any undue liberties. 

Megatron kept his thumb on Starscream's node, stroking it in the careful little circles that seemed to go over better than a harder touch. Starscream was writhing in his lap, grinding against his hand, and there was enough lubricant dripping from him to puddle on Megatron's lap. 

Megatron didn't stop rubbing Starscream's node even as he started running his fingers around Starscream's spike housing with his other hand. It took a bit of concentration to coordinate two different kinds of touch, but Megatron regularly wielded a cannon in one hand and a sword in the other, so this was nothing by comparison. Starscream certainly seemed to appreciate the effort; he went a little wild-eyed, and his fans were almost screaming now. 

"Pressurize this for me," Megatron said, petting the sensitive metal of Starscream's spike housing a bit more firmly. Starscream gave him a startled look, but his spike popped out into Megatron's grip immediately. 

Megatron weighed it in his hand, letting his fingers curl around the shaft. It wasn't half the size of his own. Starscream had some modifications himself, purely cosmetic ones: a pretty line of biolights ran up the underside where Megatron's spike had its ugly row of spines, and the paint job was obviously custom, tasteful blue and white to match the rest of his frame. It was smooth under his fingers, with the springy-tough resilience of living metal, and for a moment Megatron remembered that first-ever interface again, the manager's spike so smooth and painless in his valve. His fingers tightened automatically. Starscream winced, giving him a nervous glance. 

Megatron loosened his hold. 

"Get on with it, if you're going to," he said. He'd coddled Starscream enough, hadn't he? Starscream was so wet he was dripping, all the pretty little lights on his array glowing.

"Yeah," Starscream said, his optics still a little glazed, sliding his spike through Megatron's loose grip one more time, and then he shook himself, and his optics focused on Megatron's spike. "Yes. You'll have a bit of patience with me, master?"

"I'm being patient _right now_ ," Megatron said, looking pointedly as his own spike, which hadn't been touched since they'd moved to the berth. 

"Right, yes. Okay. I can do this," Starscream muttered, apparently too himself. He blew out a long breath and then rose up on his knees, his hand wrapping around the base of Megatron's spike to steady it. 

"The drug's still on offer," Megatron said. 

"No! No. I can do this, master," Starscream said. His other hand, slippery with his own lubricant, fingered the barb and spines; Megatron groaned.

The medics had had better things to do than replace the gladiators' entire valve lining after every match. The spines had some small amount of give to them, and although the barb was edged, it wasn't a knife's edge. But it was still hooked and unyielding, not a shape anyone's valve was designed to accommodate, and fully capable of rending flesh if it caught at the wrong angle. 

Megatron linked his hands behind his head and braced himself to ignore coding that had been ground into his programming through millennia of repetition. Starscream was too valuable to destroy. Megatron would try to hold on to that knowledge when Starscream inevitably realized that once again he'd blown past his own limits. 

Starscream struggled a little getting an angle where he could get Megatron's spike inside himself at all, high on his knees balancing awkwardly above Megatron's frame. Megatron had to stop lying on his hands so he could brace him instead, holding the smooth curve of Starscream's hips in both hands while Starscream lowered himself down. Megatron sucked in a breath as the head of his spike went in. Starscream was so wet and hot inside, letting him in with no resistance at all; it had never felt like this before. 

Starscream groaned as Megatron's spike spread him open, his optics flickering. "Oh, that, yes, that's good," he said, rocking back and forth. Megatron had to tighten his grip on Starscream's hips to stop him sliding down too quickly. 

He had to fight the urge to yank Starscream down instead, to thrust up hard and fast and bury himself all the way. Was this what interface was like for other mechs all the time? This easy painless slide, the sounds Starscream was making as he twisted on top of him with only the head of Megatron's spike inside him? 

There was a bitter taste to the thought. Megatron let the pleasure push it away. 

Starscream paused when he felt the barb pushing at his rim. He reached down between his legs, his fingers questing around it, striking little sparks of pleasure off Megatron's sensors. And then he hooked a finger inside the rim of his valve, spread himself open, and managed to get the barb inside. 

Megatron groaned. Starscream shot him a grin, smugly pleased with himself. Megatron couldn't even begrudge him the smugness. He didn't have words to describe how it felt. Starscream was so soft and yielding inside, so hot, fitting around him like he'd been made just for this. He was slowly lowering himself down, the spines working their way inside one by one, each one a bright spark of pleasure biting at Megatron's wiring. 

Starscream kept taking breaks, letting his weight rest in Megatron's hands, fans roaring. His engine was running at a high pitch. Megatron held him up, uncomplaining, despite the increasingly desperate urge to yank him the rest of the way down. It felt as if they were under some sort of spell, and he didn't dare do anything that would interrupt it; he'd never had an interface like this, and he didn't quite know how it had happened, or how to keep it this way.

Starscream had one hand rubbing his node, in an absent-minded way. Most of his attention seemed to be on Megatron's spike sliding deeper and deeper into his valve. He took the last few inches in a single sweet glide, until Megatron was all the way inside. Starscream braced his hands on Megatron's chest, crumpling in on himself. He looked _wrecked_ , his shivering wings hanging low, the tips almost dragging the ground. 

Megatron stroked his hips, watching him in fascination even as he kept having to choke off his own motion subroutines; his body desperately wanted to thrust into Starscream's yielding warmth. 

"Okay. Slowly," Starscream finally said, his voice a crackling scratch, as wrecked as the rest of him. 

Megatron lifted him up by the hips. Starscream's thighs trembled as he tried to help. Megatron lowered him back down slowly, carefully. A part of him was still braced for resistance, for some sign of pain, but Starscream moaned and rocked his hips. 

"Oh, yeah," he said, and rose up on his knees again, faster now; halfway up he made a strange jerky little motion, his hands clamping down on Megatron's wrists, stopping him from lifting him any higher. "Oh, oh, there!" 

Starscream's optics flickered. He started moving his hips in tight little circles, his wings snapping up to extend behind him. "Oh, Primus, oh, I can make it press against, ohh. Right there," he said incoherently. Megatron could see his biolights pulsing. 

Starscream's careful little motions didn't really touch the hungry ache that had been building in Megatron's spike the entire time, but whatever Starscream was doing, he found he didn't want to interrupt it. 

He watched Starscream frantically rubbing his node. Megatron cupped his hip in one hand and wrapped the other around Starscream's spike. Starscream made a high-pitched noise and thrust into his grip.

Without the drugs, Starscream made a _lot_ of noise when he overloaded. It really wasn’t anything like the sound of him in pain; the old arena coding didn't even register. Megatron's engine revved even as he found himself smiling, watching the way Starscream threw his helm back, the dramatic flare of his wings. Of course Starscream was going to make a whole production out of it. 

Starscream went limp when he was done, bracing shaking arms on Megatron's chestplate to support his weight, his helm hanging down. Megatron grabbed him by the hips and pulled him into a deep, hard thrust, still careful to control himself but finally able to move—

Starscream convulsed, slapping his chest plates. "Stop stop stop!"

"What?" Megatron snarled, stilling his hips with a monumental effort. He'd been patient, he'd been _more_ than patient, but if Starscream was going to tell him to stop _now_ , as soon as Starscream had taken his own pleasure, he was going to run out of patience in a hurry. 

"Will you just give me _one klik_?" Starscream snapped, apparently too overload-addled to remember who he was addressing, or what sort of tone he ought to use when he did. "It gets sensitive right after an overload! Have you just never used your valve _at all_?"

Megatron looked at him, baffled by the question. Starscream knew of every single time he'd been bested in the arena, of course. Megatron had made sure, very early in his career, to have every last remaining holo recording of his defeats destroyed. That hadn't stopped Starscream from researching what records did remain of those defeats in exhaustive detail. He liked to bring them up at inopportune moments. So he had to know exactly how Megatron's valve had been used. Why he'd imagine Megatron had ever used his valve in any activity that might have resulted in an _overload_ was another question entirely. 

There'd been very few mechs who could've forced this sort of humiliation on him after he'd escaped the arena—there had, in fact, been none—and before that…. Did Starscream imagine he'd overloaded on the energon-soaked sands, in front of the jeering crowds, the way Starscream sometimes had while being taken on the floor of Megatron's quarters? The image alone was enough to make him shudder. 

Thankfully that was one humiliation the defeated gladiators had been spared. It wasn't their _pleasure_ the crowd was there to see. 

Starscream was watching his face, wincing at whatever it was he was reading there. "If you'd just give me a klik, master? Please?" he asked, in a far more conciliatory tone. 

Megatron sighed. This was all turning out to be a whole lot more complicated than his usual trysts with Starscream. And yet he couldn't convince himself that he'd have preferred their usual way of doing this, Starscream drugged up and insensible on the floor of his quarters. 

He absently petted the shining silver thighs under his hands, and watched as Starscream slowly put himself back together. It took rather longer than the single klik he'd requested, but eventually he pulled his drooping wings up behind him, and the roar of his fans quieted down. Finally he gave a little experimental twitch of his hips and then shivered, looking more intrigued than pained. 

"If you're ready, now…?" Megatron asked sardonically. 

Starscream fluttered his wings at him. "I appreciate you being patient with your humble servant, my lord," he said, in the usual tones of utterly insincere flattery. Megatron almost laughed. _That_ was his duplicitous second in command, not that creature of sensory indulgence he'd turned into for a while. This Starscream, Megatron knew how to deal with. 

"Will you start squalling again if I put you on your back?" he asked. 

"I don't squall! _You_ should try taking a spike like that, see how you like it—" Starscream snapped, and then his entire face winced into a priceless expression of regret. "Of course I'm at your disposal, my lord!" he said hastily, and when Megatron didn't strike him the way he'd have deserved for that remark, added "You'll be careful, though? Merciful master?" 

He said that last part in a wheedling tone, wings tilting coquettishly. 

There were thousands of mechs in this army who'd consider it an honor to serve the needs of Lord Megatron. Loyal, brave, obedient mechs. Why had Megatron chosen _this one_ to take to his berth? There must be some terrible flaw in his logic circuits somewhere. 

Still, Megatron was careful as he rolled them over, spreading Starscream out on the berth beneath him. Starscream startled when the circuitry lit up beneath his back, offering a steady stream of energy to his contact points. 

"Oh, that's nice," he said, wriggling his wings so he could press himself more fully against the berth. Megatron gritted his teeth, feeling every one of those motions on his spike. 

He gripped Starscream by the shoulders to hold him still and started thrusting in his usual slow, measured rhythm, carefully controlled, trying to minimize the amount of damage his spike was going to inflict. It felt immeasurably different with Starscream awake. He was twitching a little with every thrust, his valve leaking a slow drip of lubricant down Megatron's spike. 

Starscream watched him suspiciously as he started out, but as Megatron kept moving with slow precision, his optics unfocused and his helm tilted back. His wings shivered. Megatron experimentally stroked one, giving the aileron a firm tug. Starscream made a startled sound, his legs coming up to wrap around Megatron's waist, pulling him more firmly against Starscream's frame. 

"Yes, mm, that," he said, imperiously pressing his wing into Megatron's hand. Megatron kept stroking it obligingly. Starscream was coming alive beneath him again, arching into his thrusts, less careful with his own valve than Megatron had been. "There!" he said, when Megatron got an angle he liked, "Yes, just like that. Ooh, touch my node again—"

His tone was completely disrespectful, but Megatron could either pause to put him in his place, or he could get his hands on Starscream's slippery node, feel it pulse against his fingers, the tight space between their bodies hot and damp from both their fluids. 

"Yes, yes, oh slag yes," Starscream whimpered, his thrusters scraping harshly against the back of Megatron's thighs. Megatron abruptly realized that if he kept this up, he was going to have to take _another_ break to coddle Starscream through his post-overload sensitivity. 

He took his hand off Starscream's node to a thoroughly disrespectful screech of disappointment, braced himself on the berth, and finally let himself speed up the way his frame had been begging for all along. Pleasure surged through him in obliterating waves, the whole universe narrowing down to Starscream's tight hot valve and Starscream's incoherent curses—

"Touch me, you slagger, come on, what's _wrong_ with, oh, oh, pit, I hate you—"

"Yes, tell me," Megatron hissed, pressing in until his spike was all the way inside and then just grinding down into blissful tightness. Just before overload crashed through his circuitry, he managed to get his thumb on Starscream's node again. He felt Starscream tighten down on him in a fluttering wave. Starscream screamed. Charge surged; circuit breakers engaged, and everything went black. 

He rebooted still braced over Starscream's frame, where autonomics had locked his shoulder and elbow joints into position when he'd overloaded. Starscream was still coming out of reboot himself, his optics flickering. Megatron reclaimed manual control over his limbs, successfully fought off the impulse to let himself crash down onto Starscream, and carefully worked his spike out of Starscream's limp body. Starscream made some muffled and largely incoherent noises of complaint, but he didn't actually move except to let his legs slide off Megatron's hips and onto the berth with a clang. 

Megatron spread Starscream's thighs a little further so he could take a closer look. Starscream's valve was messy and swollen, leaking transfluid all over Megatron's formerly pristine berth. There were only a few tiny threads of energon mixed in with the lubricant, less even than there'd been the other times Megatron had taken him, despite how enthusiastic they'd gotten towards the end. Megatron spread him open with his thumbs, trying to get a look at where the energon was coming from. Starscream muttered something muffled and kicked him in the thigh, so Megatron let him be. If there'd been any serious damage done, there'd be a lot more energon than that. 

Megatron finally gave his frame permission to topple over like it so desperately wanted to, dropping down onto the berth beside Starscream. Starscream didn't even unshutter his optics. He was an awkward pile of limbs, his fans laboring to cool his frame, his mouth slightly open, completely wrecked. 

What he'd given Megatron tonight…. It was nothing more than Megatron's due, of course, as Starscream's lord. And yet.

Starscream could've done his duty sullenly, following orders with bad grace, as he did only too often. But he'd come to Megatron's berth willingly instead. He'd offered all of himself, without even the dulling layer of the drug to take him away from an unpleasant task. He'd given himself to Megatron fully, and he'd overloaded twice; he'd liked it. He'd exhausted himself. 

Megatron stroked a twitching wing, flung out carelessly behind Starscream. Starscream looked like the aftermath of those decadent parties the nobles used to throw: an expensive thing, used hard and then discarded. There were sticky smears of transfluid on his chest plates. Megatron wiped at one with the side of his hand. Starscream grumbled something unintelligible and rolled over onto his front, smacking his wing into Megatron's face. He didn't even wake up enough to realize what he'd done. 

Megatron sighed. Starscream's wing was still prodding his side, trying to make space for itself. And then Starscream, EM field fuzzy with recharge and optics shut, actually reached out with one hand, fumbling blindly over the berth until he could give Megatron a shove. 

Megatron was startled to hear himself laugh. "Disrespectful creature," he muttered. 

He dragged himself off the berth with a groan, his joints creaking. Starscream had managed to get transfluid all over _his_ chest plates, too. There was even some on his chin, and quite a lot of it in his seams, where it was already starting to gum things up. It was going to be a nightmare to clean up. 

He'd probably done that on purpose, Megatron thought darkly, aware that he was being uncharitable. Then Starscream sighed and spread himself out on Megatron's berth like he owned it, wings and legs everywhere. He somehow managed to take up the entirety of a berth that was generously sized for a mech _Megatron's_ size. Greedy fragger. Megatron decided there was no such thing as being too uncharitable about Starscream's motives. 

He clanked into the washracks and hosed himself down, getting the transfluid out of his seams before it could dry there. His own valve was as sticky-wet as it always got when he interfaced. Megatron cleaned that, too, shoving two fingers inside in the usual perfunctory way, and almost dropped the sprayer at the shivery-bright sensation that resulted; more sensation than he'd had from the deadened mesh in millennia. He yanked his fingers out and wiped them off mechanically, staying away from that part of his anatomy for the rest of a brief harsh clean-up. 

He came out of the wash racks with a wet rag in his hand. There wasn't any reason to clean Starscream up today, considering that he hadn't been drugged and ought to be perfectly well able to clean himself. But he'd never minded that part of their ritual: making sure he hadn't damaged anything beyond repair, Starscream pliant and warm under his touch as he wiped the evidence of their coupling off his frame. 

Starscream was still sprawled out on his berth, optics off, engine purring contentedly. His EM field flickered in the diffuse way of a mech drifting in powersave mode. When Megatron came closer, not making any particular effort to be silent, he rubbed his face against the berth and mumbled "Bring me a cube while you're up." 

"I think you forget who's in charge here," Megatron said drily. 

Starscream's optics lit up abruptly. "Master! I, uh. That is… I'd never impose, of course… unless you _felt_ like sharing fuel with, with your obedient drone, who has pleased you very well, and depleted all his fuel reserves…" 

He was eyeing Megatron cautiously, as if to see how this was going over. 

Megatron shook his head, appalled at himself. Why had he ever let this impossible creature into his berth? 

"I'm running on fumes here! I might stall out if I try to get up like this!" Starscream yelled after his retreating back as Megatron turned away, and then looked so amusingly startled when he realized that Megatron was in fact heading for the energon tap, it was almost worth the smug look that followed. 

Megatron pointedly dropped the damp rag on Starscream's chest plates—he was _not_ going to wipe Starscream down like a serving drone if Starscream was going to be awake to gloat about it—took an equally pointed swig of energon from the cube, and then set it down on the table beside the berth. Starscream immediately snagged it and started guzzling. He _had_ been low, Megatron saw. His running lights brightened visibly after the first few gulps of fuel. 

Starscream set the empty cube down and started wiping himself down, making little mournful noises at every minor scratch he encountered. What a ridiculously vain little thing he was. 

Megatron's berth was still full of wings and long Seeker limbs, not even leaving a space for him to sit down. For a moment his processor produced a vivid and ridiculous image of picking Starscream up and fitting them onto the berth together. Their size difference worked out just right so Starscream would be able to comfortably put his helm onto the flat plane of Megatron's chest. 

Where Starscream would promptly use the access to stab Megatron in the spark while he recharged. 

And yet there was a treacherous little thread stubbornly lingering somewhere in subconscious processing that _liked_ the idea: the warmth and safety of another warrior sharing his berth. As if there could be anything safe about letting himself be that undefended around Starscream of all mechs. 

Megatron thoroughly quarantined that toxic little virus of a thought process, picked Starscream up by the wings and dumped him off the slab. Starscream yelped. 

"Hey! What was that for?"

"It's my berth. You've got one of your own, I assume," Megatron said. He swiped the rag at the smears of lubricant and transfluid that had gotten all over his berth, which took care of the worst of the mess but still left his berth decidedly sticky. There'd be no fixing that without a bucket of solvent, though, which was a lot more effort than he was willing to go to tonight. He resigned himself to another trip through the wash racks tomorrow and stretched out on his back with a sigh. 

Starscream was still standing beside the berth, glaring, obviously torn between warring impulses: knowing his contrary nature, now that he'd been told he wasn't _allowed_ to be in Megatron's berth, what he'd want more than anything was to be in Megatron's berth. On the other hand he presumably had enough sense to realize that he didn't _actually_ want to _share a berth with Megatron_. Hopefully he also had enough sense to realize that it wasn't going to end well for him if he tried to kick Megatron out. 

"That berth is a disgrace, you do realize," Starscream said sullenly. "I can't believe you live like this. You ought to have… jewels, and, and, crystals—"

"In my _berth_? What in the pit would be the point of that?" Megatron asked, too amused to even get annoyed. Of course now that Starscream had been forced to face the fact that he couldn't _have_ the berth, he'd decided it was beneath him. Megatron grinned to himself at the thought of recharging on a pile of crystals and gems like a predacon from an old tale. 

"Not _in_ your—oh, why do I bother," Starscream snapped. He pivoted on his heel, thruster scraping a gauge out of Megatron's pristine floor. 

"Starscream," Megatron said. Starscream paused with his hand on the door. "If I call you to my rooms again, will you come?"

He didn't know what he'd do if Starscream said something sullen and ungracious now. They both knew he could _make_ him; that wasn't the question. It was Megatron's right to order this service from his subordinates, nothing more than he was due as their commander, and that fact didn't change just because this wasn't usually a privilege he exercised over his mechs. He didn't need to care what Starscream thought about it; he _shouldn't_ care. 

Starscream was brazen and insubordinate. Megatron ought to teach him his place. And yet he was suddenly sure that if Starscream made it clear now that he resented this duty, this would be the last time he ever ordered it. 

Starscream bowed deeply, wings sweeping back. "I'm ever honored to serve you, great and mighty Megatron," he said, peering up at Megatron from under his brow ridges. Megatron choked down a hard lump of disappointment. That was the political answer, not an atom of sincerity in it. Starscream at his manipulative best. 

Starscream straightened up, watching him intently. 

"You may leave," Megatron said, too sharply. He mastered himself. "You've done well; I'm pleased."

Starscream's wings flicked in surprise at the praise. He scraped one foot across the floor, leaving another scratch, and gave Megatron a cagey look. "I might be… _especially_ honored to serve you next Junex?"

Junex wasn't even a decacycle away. Some overtightened spring inside Megatron's chassis eased. 

"There's an exercise scheduled that day," Megatron said. Starscream loathed exercising with the full aerial corps, none of whom could match him in flight. _Like strapping a boulder to your wings_ , he'd complained more than once. Trust him to jump at any excuse to shirk that duty.

But there were other excuses he could've used. Starscream was nothing if not inventive. There were other dates he could've picked than one that was as close as this.

Megatron found he was smiling. He tried to rein it in; he didn't need Starscream thinking he was amused by his attempts to shirk.

"The exercise is scheduled to end in the afternoon. I'm sure you could ensure it ends on time. I trust in your tactical brilliance, my lord," Starscream said, smiling back coyly. "And there's no early maneuvers the next day."

"I clearly remember there being a patrol scheduled for the next morning, actually. A patrol to that subtropical desert region you like so much. I know how you enjoy flying through sand storms," Megatron said, feeling his grin grow wider when Starscream shuddered delicately. 

"Dirge and Ramjet could use the experience, you know. I might be unavoidably late to patrol," Starscream said. "I wouldn't like to short-change my lord, after all. You might like to take your time. Master."

"Maybe I _would_ like that," Megatron said. He was really pretty sure he would. 

Starscream smiled. 

THE END


End file.
